


oh brooklyn brooklyn take me in (are you aware the shape I'm in)

by madasthesea



Series: what you were then I am today [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Past Character Death, Tony adopts Peter, Vomiting, may died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madasthesea/pseuds/madasthesea
Summary: After May's death, Peter struggles with insomnia.A brief interlude from Peter's perspective.This is part of a series. Reading in order is strongly recommended.





	oh brooklyn brooklyn take me in (are you aware the shape I'm in)

**Author's Note:**

> This covers the entire timeline of the series, from May's death to two months after "there is nothing worth sharing."

 

The night before May’s funeral, Tony sleeps in a chair by Peter’s bed.

Peter isn’t sure why. He doesn’t ask.

Tony’s gone when he wakes up in the morning. There’s a black suit draped in his place.

Peter pushes the chair back to the sitting room Tony had got it from.

 

 

Some nights he sits outside of Tony’s door. His heightened hearing can pick up on Tony’s breathing, his heartbeat, the sounds of him rolling over in his sleep. It feels a bit like an invasion of privacy, and even the memory of the Baby Monitor Protocol isn’t quite enough to assuage his guilt.

He never did this with May. If he had, he might still remember what her breathing sounded like.

Tony has nightmares sometimes. Peter feels even guiltier on those nights, and he’s always torn between running back to his room immediately or waiting out the dream. He doesn’t go in and wake Tony up. Just sits in the hall with his knees pulled up to his chest and listens to Tony cry out.

Six weeks after May died, Tony yells Peter’s name in his sleep for the first time. He sits here most nights. He would have heard if it happened earlier. Tony’s voice cuts off in a gasp, a tremulous exhale. He’s awake, his heart thundering in his chest. Peter is on his feet and down the hall before Tony finishes muttering a curse.

He ends up in the gym, going at a punching bag with his bare fists. He’s angry and he doesn’t know why he’s angry. He’s crying and he doesn’t know why he’s doing that, either.

He stops punching when he splits a knuckle. He has a deal worked out with FRIDAY—she won’t tell Tony what he’s doing unless he leaves, gets hurt, or if Tony asks. He shoves his hand in his mouth and licks away the tiny drop of blood that welled there. The room is dark around him, and the anger feels like it’s waiting in the shadows to swallow him whole. He wipes tears off his face, goes to his room, and turns all the lights on.

 

 

Tony’s nightmares seem to become less frequent the longer Peter’s there. He charts their occurrences in his mind like he’s marking a calendar, calculates the downward slope of the line. Correlation does not equal causation, he reminds himself, but it feels important.

He has a separate graph for the number of times Tony wakes up with Peter’s name on his lips. That one has a positive incline, a growing area under the curve. The two lines intersect and diverge, a harsh X burning behind Peter’s eyes if he lets himself think about it long enough.

Tony whimpers Peter’s name in his sleep and Peter presses his palms over his ears, tries to block out the sound. He still can’t bring himself to leave.

Tears smell different than sweat. As soon as the briny scent registers, Peter’s on his feet, his hand on the handle to Tony’s door.

It isn’t the first time it’s occurred to him that he can go in. It’s the first time he wants to.

Tony would wake up when he opened the door, would push himself onto one elbow and rub at his eyes and ask Peter if he’s alright. If Peter climbed onto Tony’s bed, would Tony let him stay? Would he brush calloused fingers against his cheek, push his hair back from his forehead?

Peter turns away from the door. He sits on the ceiling of his room and works on his calculus homework until morning.

 

 

Maggie helps. She’s energetic and lively, and even when she can’t pull Peter out of his own head, she tires him out enough he can fall asleep most nights.

He doesn’t always stay asleep.

He goes on walks with Maggie sometimes, or she’ll flop onto his lap while he does homework. It makes him feel less alone. The thought crosses his mind that, if he asked, Tony would stay with him when he feels like this. It’s why he doesn’t ask.

On bad nights, he still traces that familiar path to Tony’s door. Maggie dogs his wake, eyes half open and tongue lolling. Peter slides down the wall and Maggie buries her head in his stomach. Tony’s breathing is even and strong. There’s a wholeness, out here in the hall, that was absent from his room, from the well-worn path around the compound, from the gym where he tries to sweat out his demons. It settles over him like a blanket, like the scent of May’s perfume.

He wakes up curled on the floor, using Maggie as a pillow. It’s been a long time since he’s woken up slowly, and it’s an odd luxury he hadn’t realized he missed. He hears Tony moving around his room, the sounds of the shower starting. He stays until it shuts off, then clambers to his feet and sets off before Tony can find him camping outside his door.

 

 

He misses curfew. It isn’t intentional, but he doesn’t make any effort to get home once he realizes it’s passed. It’s a busy night, and he can justify each hour as it creeps along.

Tony’s asleep on the couch when he does finally decide to come back at almost 3 AM. Peter freezes in the doorway, his mask clenched tight in one hand.

The tablet resting on Tony’s stomach is beeping a steady rhythm in time with Peter’s heartbeat.

Shame floods his chest, hot and sour. His mouth tastes like bile.

He turns away. He knows he should wake Tony, but he won’t.

“Boss, Peter is home,” FRIDAY’s voice says, and Peter nearly jumps onto the ceiling.

Tony jerks awake with a gasp. Peter spins, watching warily as Tony stands, squinting and unsteady.

“Pete?” he asks. Peter hates how relieved he sounds.

“Tony.” He pauses. “I… I’m sorry.”

Tony sighs, a long, exhausted sound that reminds Peter of May. He swallows hard. “I know you are, kid.”

He doesn’t yell, because he promised he wouldn’t. It makes Peter feel worse.

“You should get some sleep. You have school tomorrow.”

Peter nods jerkily, and tries to not look like he’s fleeing as he goes.

Maggie’s asleep on his bed. She raises her head and looks at him as he changes into pajamas and collapses next to her. He’s shaking like he’s coming down from an adrenaline rush.

“I screwed up,” he coughs out. Maggie nudges his chin with her nose, licks his cheek. He curls his fingers into her fur and squeezes his eyes closed. “I screwed up,” he repeats, his voice broken. “I screwed up so bad, Mags.”

He doesn’t sleep that night. He never misses curfew again.

 

 

His insomnia catches up to him sometimes. For some reason, it’s so much easier to sleep in the daylight than at night, when his past feels like a physical weight on his chest.

He falls asleep in the lab. He’d been working on his homework on the beat-up couch in the corner while waiting for a simulation to finish. The hum of the machines, the familiar sound of Tony talking to his bots are warm and low, and he falls asleep.

He wakes up to the feeling of his pencil being pulled from his unresisting fingers. He doesn’t open his eyes, still mostly asleep and wanting to stay that way. His textbook is taken next, the sound of it being closed and set down almost inaudible.

It takes everything in him not to flinch when Tony touches his shoulder. He gently pushes until Peter is tipping over, his other hand coming up to support Peter’s head as he lays him down. The rustle of fabric, and a blanket settles heavily over him.

The warmth of Tony’s hand hovers half an inch above Peter’s cheek, hesitating. After a moment, Tony exhales heavily, almost like he’s scoffing at himself. The heat withdraws, and Peter hears him walk away.

Peter falls back asleep, familiar guilt and novel affection battling for dominance in his chest. 

 

 

It takes a long time for him to stop expecting to see May sitting on the couch next to him during movie nights. Of all the things he has to get used to after her death, for some reason, that one takes the longest. The first time Tony had persuaded him to watch a movie together, Peter had looked away from the screen, a quip ready on his tongue, only to stop dead when he saw Tony.

He’d excused himself to the bathroom and vomited as silently as he could before going back and pretending nothing had happened.

He isn’t sure when he grows accustomed to Tony being the one at his side. The two of them slowly shift from sitting as far apart as possible to casually leaning against one another, kicking their feet up into each other’s laps. Tony throws popcorn at Peter one night, and Peter just laughs.

Tony is determined to show Peter all the Bond films. They plan on marathoning them, but it’s 2 AM and they both drift off at some point during “You Only Live Twice.” Peter wakes up when the credits start rolling. He’s wedged between the back of the couch and Tony, who’s still passed out.

He’s different like this, asleep on the couch after eight hours of watching James Bond beat up Russians, the light of the TV illuminating his face. Peter is ashamed to admit he still feels like he doesn’t really know the real Tony, still lets the façade of Iron Man and The Tony Stark color his perceptions. He knows it’s his own fault. He’s spent so long running.

The Peter of two months ago would have carefully extracted his ankle from the loose hold Tony has on it, would have clambered off the couch and gone to his room, leaving Tony alone. The Peter of six months ago never would have fallen asleep here in the first place.

But now, tonight, he squirms a bit until he’s comfortable again, drapes his arm over the side of the couch so his fingers brush Maggie’s back. He goes back to sleep.   

 

 

After Tony passes out from the medicine and blood loss, Rhodey shepherds Peter out of the room. It’s weird, being in his own home and feeling like he needs to get away from the scene. He feels like he needs to escape, needs to run. He wants to go out as Spider-Man, but he can’t leave Tony.

SHIELD agents ask him what happened and he tells them, then they look him over and he lets them, then they shove him towards a shower and he goes. They tell him to sleep and he refuses. He refuses, again and again, until he’s raising enough of a fuss that Rhodey comes to find him and take him to the room Tony is in.

He feels like he’s going to throw up when he sees Tony, unconscious and pale. Rhodey spends a few minutes with a hand on the back of his neck, forcing his head between his knees and coaching him how to breathe. Peter breathes so Rhodey will leave.

Once he’s alone with Tony, he pulls up a chair and takes Tony’s hand. And then the thoughts start. The realization that Tony could have died, and as guilty as it makes him feel, the thought immediately after that: _If Tony dies, I’ll have to sit through another funeral_.

He does throw up then.

He can’t do it again. He can’t. If he loses someone else he loves, he’s going to implode. There will be nothing left of him.

The solution is obvious. He can’t stop death. He can only stop loving.

He sits by Tony’s bedside and doesn’t hold his hand.

 

 

On the year anniversary of May’s death, Peter excuses himself to bed early. Tony looks like he wants to protest, but Peter shoots him a look and he doesn’t.

He cries, a bit. Just a slow, steady stream of silent tears dripping into his hairline as he lays awake. He hears Tony go to bed a few hours later, and without thinking about it, Peter slips out of the covers and pads quietly over to Tony’s door. He slides down the wall and pulls his knees up.

Tony’s heartbeat is steady, his breathing strong and even. Peter relaxes at the sound. His tears have dried up.

He’s almost asleep when Tony’s breathing ratchets up, and he’s tossing and turning in bed. He hiccups Peter’s name.

Without pausing to think, Peter’s on his feet, reaching for the door handle. He doesn’t hesitate this time.

“Tony,” he whispers as he approaches the bed. Tony wakes up immediately, squinting over at Peter’s shadowy figure.

“Pete?” he says, his voice equal parts relieved and confused.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Peter asks. He sees in Tony’s face that he thinks it’s because of May. It might be true. Peter isn’t sure.

“Of course, bud. Come on.” He pulls the covers back and Peter slips in, curling up in a ball. Tony brushes gentle fingers over his cheek.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Tony whispers.

“No,” Peter answers, watching Tony in the dark. He seems to believe him.

“Ok. You know I love you, right?” He tucks a stray curl behind Peter's ear.

“Yeah.” He does know. He still can’t say it back, but that never seems to bother Tony. He thinks it sometimes. In moments like this, he’ll think it as loud as he can, hoping Tony will hear him anyway.  

 

 

Peter wakes suddenly, dazed and in pain. He lays there, disoriented, for a moment before an echoing crack, louder than anything he’s ever heard, splits the silence.

It sounds like the retort of a gun amplified by ten. Peter shouts, flinching back into the mattress. The silence echoes. There’s a ringing in his ears.

_Bang_

Peter jumps again. Maggie stands on his bed and barks at the ceiling, but the sound just hurts Peter’s ears worse.

“Tony,” he pants to his empty room.

_Bang_

“To-Tony.”

_Bang_

He curls onto his side, covering his ears with his hands. It does nothing to dampen the sound, but it stops Peter from feeling like his brain is leaking out his ears.

_Bang_

Giving in to childish habit, Peter turns his face into his pillow. “I want May,” he whimpers, “I want May.” It soothes the part of him that chafes at having called Tony’s name first. Maggie is racing around the edges of his room, growling at shadows.

_Bang_

“Tony!”

“He’s coming, Peter,” FRIDAY’s calm voice rings out. Peter tries to shrink into the smallest ball he can manage.

The door flies open and Peter recoils from the light. His heart is pounding so loud in his throbbing ears he almost can’t hear Tony call his name as he dashes to his side.

_Bang_

Peter yells in pain, pressing his hands harder over his ears. Someone is tugging at his wrists, pulling him up to lean against their chest.

Maggie barks again and Peter cries out.

“Maggie!” Tony snaps, and she stops, still pacing restlessly at the foot of the bed.

“Ok, kid, talk to me,” Tony says, and it sounds distant, like he’s speaking through water. Peter tries to look up at him, but it makes his head spin. He squeezes his eyes shut and whines.

Tony’s arms tighten around him, the only solid thing Peter’s aware of.

“Hurts,” he breathes.

“What hurts, buddy?” Tony’s heartbeat is fast against Peter’s back. His voice still sounds strange, and Peter has to piece each word together to make sense of them.

He slowly peels his hands away from his ears, feels Tony lightly grasp his wrists.

“Ok, that’s blood. FRIDAY, why are his ears bleeding?”

“A squadron of seven United States Air Force F-22 Raptors just went supersonic directly above us. The soundproofing in this room was effective against the sonic boom within human hearing range, but failed to block the infra- and ultra-sonic waves. Peter’s eardrums are ruptured.”

“Why the heck is the Air Force flying jets in my airspace? Nevermind, what do I do about Peter?”

“The eardrums will heal themselves in approximately twelve hours with Peter’s advanced metabolism. There is nothing you can do.”

Tony sighs, and Peter’s ears ring. Tony shifts around behind him, but Peter doesn’t move. That is until cold water is suddenly in his ear. He jerks away from it.

“Relax, kiddo. I’m just cleaning the blood off.” Peter squints at Tony, sees him using the hem of his t-shirt and water from the glass by Peter’s bed. He cleans his other ear, and both hands. Peter lets him, feeling dizzy and tired. The world spins away from him slowly.

He wakes up some time later and is surprised to find he’s still being held against Tony’s chest, his head supported by Tony’s arm. Maggie is sprawled next to them, her hot breath warming Peter’s thigh. Tony’s deep breathing is still a little muffled.

Peter smiles, tips his head back against Tony’s shoulder, and dozes off again.  

 

 

Peter lays awake for a long time and thinks. His seventeenth birthday is tomorrow. He can tell by the look in Tony’s eye that he has a lot of plans.

Last year had been hard. His birthday had fallen on the one month anniversary of May’s death. The entire day is little more than a blurry memory for Peter. The only vivid recollection, apart from the grief, is Tony coming into his room in the morning. He’d coaxed Peter out of his bed for a homemade brunch that Peter had barely managed to force down.

Tony had given him one present that day. Signed, approved adoption papers.

Peter had thanked him, throat tight and eyes burning. Then he’d gone to his room and alternated between crying and sleeping for the rest of the day.

He’s sure Tony had understood, but looking back, Peter feels guilty. Knowing Tony, he had had an entire day planned, dinner reservations and expensive gifts and everything, as a distraction, and Peter had just blown him off.

He’ll make up for it this year, he vows as he finally drifts off.

Peter wakes up to banging in the kitchen and the smell of cinnamon. He turns his face into his pillow and smiles.

He tries to feign sleep when he hears Tony coming down the hallway because for some reason Tony likes waking him up. He isn’t successful in the slightest—from the minute Tony opens the door he’s shaking with laughter—but Tony plays along.

“Aw, look how precious he is, Mags. My darling kid whom I adore so very much. It would be _absolutely tragic_ if a hundred pound dog were to jump on him and wake him up.”

“No!” Peter yelps, shooting up, but Maggie is already charging at him. She leaps onto the bed and Peter groans as he gets a large paw straight to the gut. Tony just cackles from the doorway.

“Not cool,” Peter wheezes, wrestling the dog into submission. She lays on the other side of his bed, mouth open in a canine grin while Peter scratches at her ears.

Tony comes and sits on the bed next to him, puts an arm around his shoulders. “Happy birthday, Pete.”

Peter smiles at him, leans into his side. “Thanks, Tony.”

If he closes his eyes, it’s almost like it’s Ben hugging him. He feels like a traitor to both of them for thinking it, but once the thought has come, there’s no getting rid of it.

He can feel the melancholy longing creeping up his spine. He does his best to push it away, cause he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do that to Tony again, but something must show in his face.  

“We should probably start with the emotional stuff, huh? I can tell you’re already thinking about it,” Tony says conversationally. Peter nods, looking straight ahead, and Tony’s arm tightens around him.

“Ok,” Tony murmurs, sinking into the pillows a little so he and Peter are the same height. Tony leans his head against Peter’s, his voice low and soothing.

“Peter, your mom and dad, and Ben and May, loved you so much. I didn’t know anyone but May, but I _know_ that they loved you _._ I know it’s hard being without them, especially today, and I know it feels like you can’t celebrate because they aren’t here, but I promise you that all they’ve wanted since the moment you came into their lives is this, right here. For you to be healthy, and happy, with a bright future ahead of you.”

Peter swallows. He curls into Tony a little more, his eyes burning.

“They’d be so proud of you, Pete. And I guarantee they’re all having a party in Heaven right now cause their baby is seventeen years old today, and he’s a better man and a better son than any of them could’ve dreamed of.”

Tony doesn’t say anything while Peter takes several deep breaths, trying to stave off a full on breakdown. He just rubs Peter’s arm, looking for all the world like he’ll sit there the whole day if Peter needs to. After a minute, Peter rubs any stray tears from his eyes and offers Tony a shaky smile.

“Did you practice that?” He asks, voice quivering.

“Yeah. What’d you think?”

“Nine out of ten. You could have gotten a little more choked up at the end there.”

Tony stares at him blankly, then declares, “You don’t get any of the cinnamon rolls.” He stands from the bed, and leaves the room, ignoring Peter as he scrambles up behind him.

“What, no, Tony!” Peter calls, laughing as he dashes after him, Maggie at his heels. “Wait, I take it back, it was perfect! Tony!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "I and Love and You" from the Avett Brothers.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this point of view change! I thought it was a little refreshing to have a peek inside Peter's head. I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading!


End file.
